And so it goes (again)

I distinctly remember sitting in my educational psychology class in college when we talked about the Kubler-Ross stages of grief and how parents would often experience this when learning their child may be exceptional (disabled, smarter than average, below average, etc).  I also distinctly remember thinking that, if I ever had a child with a disability of any sort that I would love that child and that this whole grief process thing wouldn't really apply to me.  And, while I was right on one of those two counts, I was wrong on the other.

I love Baby J.  More than I thought possible.  Despite the difficulties I had physically and emotionally with his pregnancy I love him beyond words.  But this love did not stop me from experiencing a small amount of grief over his condition.

When a woman is pregnant she hopes and prays that nothing will go wrong, that the baby growing inside her will develop as he or she should-- grow all their limbs, nerves, bones, organs, etc. and be born without any problems.  More often than not this is the case, thousands of babies are born completely healthy and "normal" every day.  But sometimes genetics get in the way, or something in the environment causes a problem, and sometimes they just can't explain why, but sometimes babies are born not quite as perfect as his or her parents had hoped and prayed they would.  When this happens there is grief.  Sometimes it is minor, the parent(s) run quickly through all the stages without even realizing it is happening, other times it is more dramatic with lots of tears and heartache and sometimes the parents decide that (while they love their child) they can't handle the difficulties that come with a not so perfect child and they place the baby for adoption or choose some other option.

For me it was more of the former.  My perfect baby was placed on my chest after delivery.  He cried, he scored high on his APGAR tests, he measured well, all his limbs were there, ten fingers, ten toes, and everything seemed to be functioning properly.  Then we waited for certain things to happen that never did.  I started to suspect that something was wrong when he started spitting up green and stopped eating as well.  And I kept telling the nurses it wasn't right, but they all reassured me that it was okay.  But things kept not happening so they finally ordered the first x-ray.  As I waited for the results I prayed and hoped that nothing was wrong, that they would say everything looked good and send us home.  That was the first sign of denial.  Then we were sent to Primary's and we kept saying that maybe the barium enema would clean things right out and we would go home-- more denial.  Then they did the biopsy and we still were in some denial that our perfect baby may have a problem.

Then there was the guilt.  It didn't help that nurses and doctors kept asking questions about my pregnancy and my past pregnancies.  If I had good prenatal care, if I had smoked, if I drank, if I used any drugs, if I took my vitamins... over and over they asked these questions.  This got me to thinking, what if I had taken my vitamins more regularly, what if I hadn't taken that tylenol 3 to help with the pelvic pain, what if I had or hadn't done this or that.  I felt guilty that my body didn't do something it was supposed to.  And that made me angry with myself and the doctors and nurses for making me feel this way and suggesting that it could have been my fault.  I cried over my "perfect" boy being not so perfect.  I cried that I didn't get to take him home with me, I cried over the pain he would have to endure-- there's the depression.  But as soon as we had a diagnosis and a plan of action, as soon as I was able to speak with his very competent surgeon, and as soon as I was able to say a quick prayer in my heart and Baby J and myself were given blessings, I received comfort and was able to accept that surgery was the best way to help my baby and that this was the way my baby was meant to be.

My grief over Ethne's passing has been a long process, but my grief over Baby J's condition was very short-lived.  Grief happens in different ways for every person and situation.  Sometimes we know that it is happening and others it may happen so quickly and subtly that we don't even realize it.  I am grateful for the understanding of grief I have come to over the last couple years.  I am also grateful for the comfort I received through prayer and blessings, both to myself and to Baby J.